A Taxi Full of Dreams
by foreverHenry919
Summary: Adam as a taxicab driver at the turn of the 20th century. I always wondered why he preferred that old cabbie type of dress. Maybe it was just the show's writers giving us a visual reference to Judd Hirsch's stint on the 70s sitcom, "Taxi". At any rate, this formed in my mind over a long period of time but today I sat down and typed it out. Nothing special but hope you enjoy it.


In the late 1890s, the first taxicab company in New York City was the Samuel's Electric Carriage and Wagon Company, which began running a dozen electric Hansom cabs in July of 1897. The company ran until 1898 with up to 62 cabs operating until it was reformed by its financiers to form the Electric Vehicle Company or EVC. The company then built the Electrobat electric car and had up to 100 taxicabs running in total by 1899.

A number of notable firsts also occurred in 1899 for the EVC. The first speeding ticket in the United States was given on May 20, 1899, to Jacob German while driving an electric taxicab. The first victim of an automotive accident in the United States occurred on September 13 of that same year when Henry Bliss was hit by an electric taxicab as he was helping a friend from a streetcar. And, most spectacularly of all and unbeknownst to the taxi company, the first Immortal employee was hired: Adam.

The times were fewer and farther between when Adam found himself truly interested in the goings-on of mortals but he was unabashedly fascinated by motor vehicles and privately gave many thanks to the various inventors. In order to easily be able to drive one without purchasing or stealing one, he applied to be a cab driver with the EVC which by 1903 was running up to 1,000 electric taxicabs on the streets of New York City. He'd fled there from Brussels after having died in his hospital bed in front of a team of doctors and nurses attending him while he'd lost his battle with pneumonia.

Surprisingly, Adam found the work of driving a cab relaxing and intriguing at the same time. Wheeling a vehicle through the teeming streets always gave him a surge of independence, feeding his adventurous spirit. For he never knew who was going to hop into his cab. One of his adopted country's earliest millionaires; a fleeing criminal; an occasional high-priced call girl, beautiful and mysteriously reticent, both comfortable with and resigned to her place in life. Sometimes it was a husband who'd been kicked out of his home hugging his meager possessions. Other times a woman fleeing an abusive relationship, sometimes huddling saddened and bewildered children close to her, assuring them softly that "everything would be all right".

The Immortal had to admit, though, that driving a cab also gave him an unexpected sense of power. He could sit behind the wheel of this miraculous invention and take himself practically anywhere. That is, as far as the contents of the gas tank and his employment hours would allow.

One day a frantically panting woman in labor jumped into his cab and demanded that he "Drive to the nearest hospital! Drive! My baby's coming!" The immediacy of her situation spurred him to expertly weave the cab in and out of the crowded street lanes and deliver her to a nearby hospital. Only once had he eyed the taximeter, choosing not to activate it. Why? He wasn't sure but the woman didn't appear to be able to afford the fare. And why should he care? he asked himself. The long-ago felt emotions puzzled him but the meter remained inactive. He glanced at it again and shrugged off the abandoned emotions from his mortal existence and concentrated on getting the woman to the medical help she needed.

Once they'd arrived and the hospital staff had whisked her away, he waited to find out if she and the baby were okay. He didn't even know her name or her true circumstance but ... found that he couldn't leave just yet. He'd joined a handful of expectant fathers in the waiting room but found no need to nervously pace as they did. He'd learned long ago how to endure a patient vigil. However, he couldn't stop wondering if the baby would be born with a head of curly red hair like hers. What color eyes? Green? Blue? Green, he decided. Redheads usually had green eyes. He unexpectedly fought against a tinge of anger because she appeared to be alone in this situation. Where was the baby's father? And why should he care, anyway? He hadn't been a parent in centuries. Had successfully avoided it, as a matter of fact, unwanting to endure that particular pain again of rearing a child only to watch them age and die. And leave him. Forever.

One of the men who'd been waiting for five hours, he'd said, and already the father of twin girls offered him a cigarette, which he refused. They were an enjoyable vice but succumbing to it again and dying of lung cancer again was not something he planned to do. Especially not now. He had to remain alert and ready for ... for ... the woman and ... the baby. What was he doing? What was he really hanging around here for? She didn't know him from ... he had to laugh ... didn't know him from Adam.

"Taxi driver," the cigarette man said, lighting up yet again. Adam nodded. "Milkman, myself." He blew the smoke out through his nose and asked, "This your first?"

Before he could reply, a white-uniformed nurse entered the waiting room and made eye contact with the man. He quickly left his seat and she gleefully informed him that he was the father of twin boys. She left and he returned to his seat, lowering himself slowly down into it.

"Twins," he said to no one really. Then he looked at Adam and repeated, "More twins." An uncertain smile left his face and he murmured, "How am I supposed to feed two more mouths on my pay? If there is a God, he's looking down on me now and laughing."

The same nurse returned just then to the waiting room and made eye contact with Adam this time. He quickly rose and walked over to her.

"Your wife, Irma, just had a baby girl," she gleefully informed him. He began to explain that he was not Irma's husband, just the cab driver who had brought her to the hospital but the nurse didn't give him a chance. "You can go in and see them now. Second floor, Room 208," she told him before exiting the room.

He hesitated momentarily before walking over to the elevator and punching the call button. The handful of other expectant fathers settled back into their waiting game along with the stunned, chain smoker, milkman slowly shaking his head and quietly repeating, "Twins. More twins. Good Lord."

During the elevator ride up to the second floor, something told him to turn around and leave. He was not her husband and certainly not the baby girl's father. What was he doing? What was he trying to prove? And what use would it be for him to see them? It would only serve to stir up long-abandoned emotions and cause him pain once again. For they weren't even a part of his life. So, why try to make them a part of it?

As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, he saw the nurse's station and a sign on the wall with a big, black arrow pointing to Rooms 200 - 214. He followed the direction the arrow was pointing in and found himself outside the open door of Room 208. He rapped a knuckle on the door anyway before entering and returned his former passenger's smile.

"Oh, there you are," she gushed. "Do come in." As he drew closer to her, she extended her free hand, cuddling the baby with her other arm. "Thank you so much for getting me here. I must have scared the daylights out of you," she giggled. Her eyes were bright and happy, her cheeks rosy, and her giggles threatened to warm the ice off of his cold heart.

Adam removed his flat-topped cap and black, leather gloves, and shook her hand. The pleasantness of the brief contact quirked his mouth up into a slight but genuine smile. "Not at all," he replied. "Glad I was there to help." The blanket hid the baby's face from him. He wished so much to see what the little one looked like.

"My name's Irma. Irma Dansby," the woman told him. "What's yours?"

"Um, it's Peter. Peter Nunnally," he replied, remembering his latest identity at the last minute. He'd almost told her his birth name. Now, why would he have done that? Why was he drawn to this woman? What was so different about this mortal female that had caused him to miss out on so many fares that day to make sure that she and her baby were all right? He'd surely get an earful from the dispatcher once he turned in his earnings for the day. "What did you name the b- " A man's voice cut off the end of his question.

"There are my girls!" the man's voice rang out. The happy man quickly entered the room and embraced Irma and the baby. He lifted the blanket from the baby's face and peered under it, cooing at her. Adam still couldn't see how the baby looked from his standpoint and couldn't make out their whisperings of the baby's name.

"Oh, honey, this is Peter," Irma told him. "He's the nice cab driver who got me to the hospital in time."

The man rushed over to him and embraced him, thanking him profusely. He released him from the embrace and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "How much was the fare?" he asked, opening the wallet and fingering several bills.

Adam waved him off. "No. No charge." The man adamantly insisted and Adam refused even more adamantly.

The baby's father, still nameless to Adam, closed his wallet and returned it to his pocket. "You come to dinner some night, then. Soon." Adam protested. "No ifs, ands, or buts," he told Adam. "Least we could do."

Adam finally nodded his agreement and left without knowing either the father's or the baby girl's names. But he knew Irma's. Always would, he conceded. He also had Irma's address. As he stood on the driver's side of his taxi, he brought the small piece of paper out of his pocket and looked at it. Dinner. With a nice family. A happy family that wasn't his. One that could _never_ be his. He balled the paper up in his hand and let it drop from his hand to the ground, and got into the taxi, starting it up. He drove to a park and sat on a bench watching the ducks play on the small pond for what seemed like hours. For certain he was going to get a chewing out once he managed to make it back to the garage and turn in his cab and meager earnings for that day.

But uppermost in his mind was how he had almost fallen back into that trap of wanting to lead his life in the mortal vein again. It was hard for him to believe that he'd almost ... cared for someone else. A mortal, no less, and her child!

"You're growing soft in your perpetually youthful old age, Ambrosios," he admonished himself using his birth name. How appropriate, he'd laughingly acknowledged from time to time during his unbearably long life that his given name of Ambrosios was the original Greek form of Latin Ambrosius, meaning immortal. How ironic that was. So hilariously ironic.

So ... why was he shedding tears instead of laughing?

Notes:

Information on the history of taxi cabs including the taximeter and its invention in 1891 by German inventor, Wilhelm Bruhn, found on Internet

Ancient Greek male names found at wiki/Ancient_Greek_Male_Names_Community


End file.
